Infected
by DCFanatic4life
Summary: *co-written with StephanieIrvine* This isn't a fairytale, there is no happy ending here, it's about survival and if you don't survive you're dead. Or worse...
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: We do not own the characters or real people contained in this story. The characters belong to WWE and the people own themselves, all we want are sweet, sweet brains. There will be swearing and gore and all that good stuff so if you're underage, avert your eyes!

* * *

**

A/N: So a lot of people wanted to see me and Jodi write another story that included chapters and all that good stuff and who are we to say no? Anyways, so this story came about after a conversation and again we just kind of brainstormed and loved the idea and we hope you love it too because we've got big plans for it and lots of them, seriously, we've already written a ton of different excerpts. Anyways, the chapters are co-written by the both of us so it has that nice Jodi/Nina feel to it I suppose. The idea, however, is totally foreign to our usual writing, but hey, go big or go bigger, right?

Anyways, considering this is not your normal fic, we'd love to hear your thoughts. Be brutal if you want to be, we encourage it. Enjoy :)

* * *

They say things like this only happen in the movies. That all these guts and all this gore is only seen in badly made horror films that use it as a shock effect. Well, they were wrong. This is real life and as crazy as it sounds, the world is slowly losing itself to zombies. Yes, zombies.

The cause is hazy at best. An army malfunction they said, something about creating chemicals to neutralize the enemies, but it went horribly wrong. They tested it and killed their subjects, except they didn't stay dead. They _wouldn't_ stay dead. They came back to life and started killing and those they killed started killing and it started to spread like wildfire and the government couldn't contain it.

The news anchors laughed it off and Letterman had a skit dedicated to it, and the public talked about like it was the best gossip in a decade. It was common to see kids in high school jokingly mock the way a zombie moved as they groaned "brains" and grossed out their friends. But laughing turned to screams when those jokes and gossip became fact. There was a little old lady, around eighty or so the story goes, and she was sitting in the middle of the road and some people in the days long ago, who had manners had gone to help her. They were scratched and bitten and they scratched and bit others and so on and so forth, until it changed from mindless gossip to a pandemic. Nowadays news anchors, those who are luckily still alive to see a new day, report the statistics: Maine through Vermont down to North Carolina and surrounding states were infected and their numbers are slowly rising to over forty-two percent. That was almost half the population.

It spread to the West Coast and from there it spread to Canada and South America and then the world. Zombies on cruise ships if you could believe it. No, not for vacation, for brains, left adrift until they reached the other side of the ocean and their Navies and Coast Guard equivalents checking on these large ships and then they turned and then more and then the entire world save for some areas, some lucky areas that escaped the carnage. Nobody knew how to stop it once it started. They were bodies parted from their souls and there were just far too many to control effectively. Wait it out became the worldly mantra. But there were no lovely speeches worthy of the movies, no one leader to say it would be alright. They'd tried that once. The Canadian Prime Minister had tried to tell his beleaguered country that it would all be fine, that they would persevere, that the world would not succumb to evil. It might have worked too, if his press conference hadn't erupted to chaos and the living world (because now they were not countries or nationalities, but living and dead) had not seen half his head bitten off by a dead teenager. It was too much, wait it out, but waiting it out was not working out the way they'd hoped.

By the time anyone thought to take action it was already too late, the damage was done and chaos reigned. Schools became deserted, hospitals were easy pickings and the first attacked, supermarkets were ambushed, by both the living (for food) and the undead for...well, food. The panic that flooded the world was only increased when communications went down and soon after, in some parts of the world, electricity too. Needless to say, this was the only worldwide disaster that hadn't been blogged about. There were guns and bullets and that slowed them, quelled their numbers, but like any virus or infection it multiplies quickly and the world didn't stand a chance and fell to its knees in surrender.

And the survivors? They were left to their own devices. Some thrived, some didn't. Some were alone, some traveled in packs, but one thought prevailed...survival of the fittest. That was the only way to live and thrive nowadays, if thrive was the right word. There was really no thriving. There was surviving and that was it. The remnants of the government set up safety spots where they could, havens they called them, but most were unreachable so it left the remaining population on their own. There was no unity, no sense of nationalism. Everyone was an enemy and until the zombies were annihilated, by man or by nature, nobody could be trusted.

It was a lonely world now, families were torn a part, sometimes literally, and friendships were forgotten in order to survive. It was fight or be killed, save yourself or die trying to help, and these were no ways to make lasting relationships. People showed their true colors, and what dark colors they yielded, but they really weren't to blame, April 17, 2011 was, that was the date of the first recorded outbreak.

That's when the world ended.

There were no more cities, states, countries, there were only people now, just people. There was traveling and shooting and driving and hiding and blood, so much blood. But there _are_ survivors. There are still people, humanity will see another day. The time will come when this will all be a distant memory, pages in the history books, but before that has to come survival, has to come the fight. There were those that gave up. Then there were those ready to fight, live, _be_.

And that, _that_ right there is the essence of humanity and that is how humanity, though dwindling in numbers, will survive. For all the sorrow and strife going on across the world, there are still survivors out there with the passion and fight that will not die, and that will give them the strength to destroy every zombie they come across, any way they can. Torch it, shoot it, cut it, they're dead...er. It's ingrained when you're a child, protect yourself, fight, live, breathe - it's human nature.

And that's a zombie's downfall.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thanks for all the reviews guys, Jodi and I are really stoked by the response, especially because it's not what we usually do, not by a long-shot, but we're glad you're intrigued. You'll start to get a feel for the story in this chapter. Just an addendum that I don't think I put in the last chapter, there are no kids in the story because while this is morbid, it's not kiddie zombie morbid. Anyways, hope you enjoy and reviews are very welcome, thanks. :)

* * *

"_Stephanie, get out of here!"_

"_MOMMY, no!"_

I shake the thought from my mind and take a deep breath. I feel like I haven't taken one in days, but I have a safe haven for the night. Abandoned condo, pretty lush, nothing I couldn't have afforded when...when the world was still the same, when money meant something. Nowadays, it's all guns, ammo, food, those are the things that get you by. Money? Obsolete. Maybe...maybe if the world survives money will mean something again, but not right now. Right now, staying alive is more important than money. Maybe in my next life I can be a bounty hunter. I laugh, but it sounds hollow. But then, there's nothing to laugh about now. I've got work to do. I've got to barricade the door for the night, then check the windows. I need a good night's sleep and there's not going to be a wink of that if I don't make sure some soulless body interrupts me.

Sleeping is hard, it's vulnerable and in this world, vulnerable kills you dead. I've seen it happen, I saw it happen to Paul. Oh, dear husband, you never stood a chance. You thought we'd be safe at home, _Stephanie, we'll be safer if we just stay put_. Then he turned on the lights one night, innocently, when electricity still existed, before the power stations were abandoned, and he alerted them all to our presence. We managed until the morning, tried to make it for the car while they surrounded us. Nothing changes you like seeing your husband's intestines splayed across your driveway. Damn it, I'm thinking again and thinking in this world gets you nowhere. The old world is gone.

My old life is as dead as my husband.

There's no family anymore, gone in the blink of an eye and my friends, I have no idea if they even survived. Did they make it or did they die too? Is there a zombie out there with their face and the memories that made them who they were? It's pointless thinking of this, it's just a retread of thoughts that ought to be forgotten, memories that are tarnished by blood and feelings that have numbed over time. It's a whole new world now and with it comes a whole new life, not once did I ever look into my future and see anything other than that wrestling ring, never mind the zombies that are more common now than that of a mere human. It's funny how life throws these twists and turns at you, it's like that saying,_ 'If life gives you lemons, make lemonade.'_ but how can I possibly do that when it takes so much effort to survive?

I'm always on constant alert, even when I'm sleeping and more than anything I just want a second to relax, but no I have to be strong and makes sure any zombie that dares to cross my path meets the end of my shotgun with an explosive bang. I'd like to say I keep score on how many I've killed (people at one point in time) but they just blend together until it's just gun shot after gun shot. I didn't ever think I'd ever be a killer, let alone know how to fire a gun, but it's funny how life turns out, if only I could laugh.

I once met a woman, we were going in different directions. She was heading home, wanting to see if anyone had survived. I'm heading for Colorado, Denver to be exact. I heard through the grapevine there's a safe haven there. It's cold up there in the winter, zombies freeze, it's an ideal spot to have one. We ended up staying in the same warehouse for a night. We didn't trust each other, it's hard to trust in this world. If you drop your concentration for a moment, you end up with no guns and blood gushing out of your neck, so we ended up talking all night. She said something that I found funny at the time, "You never forget your first." At first I thought she was talking about my virginity. Bryan Sheehan. He was on the wrestling team, which was apt, never could get away from those wrestlers. He's probably a zombie right now, eating somebody's foot or something. Trina, that was her name, corrected me, telling me it was your first zombie kill. "Once you get the first," she told me, "you become impervious to the rest. They all just become bodies, not people."

My first was the man (I use the term loosely at this point) eating my husband. Ran him over with my car. I felt like Paul deserved a little bit of redemption. I still remember the crack of bones, whether or not they were Paul's I didn't care. Ran right over that bastard's head and then once more for good measure. I don't remember what I felt, remorse, maybe, scared, yeah. But fear is left for the dead. There's no more fear nowadays, no mercy. I wonder if Trina ever made it back home. I don't know, hope she did, I guess. Whatever, no time for caring in this world. I stopped caring a long time ago. Now it's just me, I just worry about me. I'm making it to Colorado and I don't give a shit how many zombies I have to kill along the way.

All that matters, is that when I reach Colorado, I'm going to be alive and nothing is going to stop that. Yeah, you might look at me and go, _'Her time's almost up.'_ but I'm not going down easy, I'm living through an apocalypse and I'll be damned if I'm not seeing it through to the fucking end. Stephanie McMahon isn't a quitter, never was in my previous life, I don't see why that should change now. The only difference now is how many shotgun shells I have and how good of a swinger I am before I have to turn and run for higher ground. Zombies aren't great climbers, brilliant at charging into walls though - next time you're gasping for breath after saving your own life, check it out, it's a sight to see. Bottom line is though, quitting is out of the question and if it's tough, you just gotta fight some more. Otherwise? You're dead.

Funny thing is though, I never really appreciated my life when I had one. I always took it for granted. I had a family whom I loved (yes we had our arguments, but everyone does) and I had a good job that provided money and I could buy whatever I wanted and I had a husband. I had friends who were alive and that I could joke with and now, it's only me. You really don't know what you have till it's gone (or ripped apart in front of you). I miss the showers and how it'd wash the grime of the day away or grabbing my car keys and going to grab some food. Now I have to wait days before I come across anything that can scrub the blood out of my clothes and the dirt from my skin. Sure, it's the end of the world, but you can still look good kicking ass and all. It's the little things you have to savor these days, it's that or you're going to go crazy.

That's what the voices in my head say anyway...

It doesn't hurt to have some humor kicking around too.

I wonder what my friends and family would think now. They'd probably laugh and tell me this is exactly how they pictured I would act during a zombie apocalypse. While I was traveling in my SUV, I happened on an abandoned military barricade. They were eaten, I'm sure. The government wasn't prepared for how fast things spread. It served me well though. I traded up, my SUV for an Army-issue Hummer, and my one shotgun for a whole arsenal of guns. I'm stacked right now. Shooting a gun is strange at first, but you get used to it quick when you've got dead people running after you and you've got to shoot over your shoulder at them. Aim for the head. Thank you horror movies, for teaching me right. Hitting them anywhere else only slows them down.

Sometimes, when my body is rebelling against me, I stay somewhere for a couple days, if it's secure enough, but never more than a couple days. It gives those alive the opportunity to ambush you for your stash and it gives the zombies enough time to sniff you out and ammo does eventually run out. But those times I do stay more than a night, I use the day time to observe them, the others, the dead. Too many people go balls out and they don't observe and that's why they die. But since I'm not going to fucking die any time soon, I do my homework.

The sun seems to slow them down, hurt them. They're rotting away. If I weren't going to where they could freeze, I'd probably go down South for the humidity. Zombies are dead, you'll remember, deader than...well, they're dead, let's leave it at that. So they're still rotting away. I've seen arms just falling off, legs. Eventually, they will die because their bodies won't be able to sustain them. I've just got to outlive them until that moment comes. They're fast too, so you've got to be faster, stronger. You don't stand a chance otherwise, unless you're so loaded down with guns you can take down the entire fucking zombie army, but I don't think anybody has that much. So you've got to observe them, learn about them, so you can kill those motherfuckers.

If the end result of that is them dead, and you gasping for air? You get a gold star, because you're one more zombie away from surviving this hellhole. The one thing I noticed, the one thing that I know that'll save my life, is their hunger. I'd love to say they're dumb as shit, God knows I knew people who were, but it's not that person anymore, there's no talking to them or bartering for your life, to them, it's an eat or be eaten world and you'd be wise to use that to your advantage. See, when the infection takes over, it's like synapses in their brain fuses to new ones and create this lust for blood and when that blood lust meets its peak, there's a frenzy within them and that's when their survival instincts go out the window.

Yes, it is dangerous, but what isn't in this world anymore? What you want to do, what _I_ do, is taunt them, lure them into a group and when they're clawing their way to you, you open fire on those motherfuckers. It's open season and it's their own fault they're to hung up on getting whatever from you to run. Essentially it's luring them into a slaughter, but it's more human that any death they've ever given. They're better off dead anyway, they can find the peace they begged for seconds before their throats were ripped from them. It might seem ruthless, but are you actually going to tell me you wouldn't do the same exact thing? Of course you fucking are, anyone in their right mind would prefer to be alive than dead, I guess I'm just not afraid to admit it.

I never thought life would be like a computer game, because really, zombies? It's downright laughable, but in all the ways it is, the one difference that makes it not, is that there's no second chance. Your character doesn't magically come back to life and you're on a mission to save the world, you don't get shot and a medi-pack brings you to full health.

No, when you're dead, you're dead.

So that brings me right back here. I'm thinking I'll stay here for a couple days. I looked at the cupboard, there's enough non-perishable food that I should be good. Food is hard to come by right now. Everything that was perishable is either gone or expired. If the zombies don't kill me, I'm sure as hell not going to let a moldy piece of bread do it. Someday, I hope to have a cheeseburger again, a greasy one, dripping in cheese and drenched in ketchup and mustard. I stand up from the spot where I took a couple seconds to breathe and head for the door. I hear a thumping and I stop. Shit, did I check the bathroom? I thought I checked everywhere. I must have, I never go somewhere without checking first. I lift up my gun slowly, silently. I never leave my arsenal in the truck, too risky. Looters and vandals would have a field day. There's a locked compartment in the back that conveniently had the key, but I don't trust people. Crowbars are in abundance now that only a few people need them. But this thumping doesn't sound alive. It had that rhythmic motion of a zombie trudging along. I try not to breathe and with every creak, I turn around frantically, waiting for it to jump out at me.

I still hear it and I will blast the head off of it if it comes near me. Then I tune my ear more closely and hear it's coming from just outside the door. I locked it, but zombies are relentless and if one alerts its friends, then it may turn to many banging against my door and I'm just not in the mood for a spree tonight. I just want to rest in that big bed I saw just twenty minutes earlier, when I found the door unlocked (it helps getting into places when people abandoned them in a hurry, thanks for that, zombies). I creep towards the door, never letting my guard down. The thumping persists and I peek out the peephole, waiting to see something, anything. If there's one, I have to kill it and quick because if there's one, then more will come, then more, and more, and more...

There's nothing but blackness as I stare out, the stars are hiding, much like everyone without shelter tonight. I feel my grip tighten around my gun, my trigger finger just itching to flex and fire. Slowly, my free hand is on the lock of the door and silently I unlock it before I reach down and grip the door handle. I gotta remember to breathe, getting stressed causes mistakes and mistakes get you killed and there's no way in hell I'm dying when that bed has my name on it. I ease the door open, making sure to keep the gun just inside the door, and as a note to the world, do not stick your gun halfway out of the door, zombies have hands (well...some of them) and hands can grab and pull said gun (and you) out of the door before you're fully ready for a zombie attack. Yes, this has happened to me, but I learned from my mistakes. I let the door swing open and I can't see anything that presents an immediate danger, but don't let that lull you, there is still a danger. Crossing over, I press my back against the door (never leave yourself open, it's a vital rule if you want to live) and inch my way outside.

The silence is eerie, and I can feel the sweat roll down my neck, but I stand there, just outside the door, deathly still, because I can wait longer than a zombie, I have the persistence to wait and a zomb-

I cock the gun and aim and in one fluid motion my trigger fingers curls and a shot rings out.

It's another one to add to the pile. Poor kid barely looks eighteen, was probably looking forward to college and seeing how his future played out, guess he didn't see it ending at the end of a gun. Or however he originally died.

I can't think about it though, I look around, wondering if there are more with him or it, whatever, referring to them as its is easier, but sometimes you remember that they were people. I wait on baited breath for a moment, listening. Nothing, I don't hear anything else. He must have been alone, maybe saw me come into the condo. I stare at his body a little more, there's a slow trickle of blood coming from the wound. It's making a sickening gurgle sound, but you get used to it after a while. I give one more quick sweep to the immediate area before I go inside and close and lock the door quietly. I push my gun so it's against my back and go for the couch first. It's the heaviest thing and will take me the longest to push towards the door. I heave it towards the door and block it. That should work for tonight. If some of them come, it'll give me enough time to get into position before they break through. I look through the windows. It's all quiet out there. I laugh, all quiet on the western front, a lifetime ago I read that, high school. I close the blinds and then grab the candles I'd lit, bringing them into the bedroom. There's a lock on the door, so I lock it and then push a couple chairs they had in there up against it, better safe than sorry.

I go to the bathroom, water, oh God, water feels so good. I splash it against my face. I'll see if I can get a shower tomorrow, tonight, I'm too tired. I'd had to get gas today and that's always a challenge, they _always_ find you there, bastards, I sometimes think they still have some semblance of human left in them since they know I'd have to stop. The bed feels like heaven and I strip down to my underwear so I don't get dirt and grime all over the bed. I may just be a human now, human against zombies, but at the end of the day, I'm still a lady.

I close my eyes and let myself sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thank you guys so much for the reviews, Jodi and I appreciate them and love to hear what you guys have to say about zombies! Anyways, this chapter is from Chris's POV in case that is unclear. Just another reminder, neither Chris nor Stephanie have children in the story. So hope that you enjoy some more zombie apocalypse goodness and be sure to leave a review and tell us what you think. Enjoy. :)

* * *

Sometimes I wonder if the smell will ever go away. You never get used to it, it's been months and sometimes I still find myself gagging. It's like I can see the stench lingering in the air, the way barbeque smoke used to on a warm summer's evening. This smell though, I don't think it'll ever leave. It's decay and suffering and guts and it permeates everything, living or not and it's awful and every morning or night or afternoon I wake up to this nightmare, for that very brief moment of wakefulness I think today is the day it'll be gone, but then it hits me again and I'm reminded that my life will never be the same.

I didn't even see it coming, I laughed at the news and shook my head in disbelief as I threw back another shot of grey goose. The lies people created these days were unbelievable. I wish it was just lies, that driving that four hour drive home wasn't my awakening to reality, but it was. I don't think I'll ever forget that radio warning, or the static that was left behind when it was suddenly cut off. That's all my life was now, white noise left behind by the static in the air.

And, of course, screams.

It was on every newspaper and TV report for weeks, normal scheduling had been over taken and all that was coming from the little man on the box were useless facts like: stay in your house, lock all your doors, everything will be taken care of. I'd of course ignored it, remember the GG, but you know what all those rules are...bullshit.

I wished I could blame it all on an alcohol-induced haze, but when you see your first dead person walking towards you, wanting nothing more than to tear you limb from limb, you snap out of whatever haze you tricked yourself into. All that's left is the cold reality of the situation. When that radio warning cut through the piercing silence of my car, I knew that the shit was hitting the fan. I tried to wrack my brain for survival tips. I'd loved horror movies growing up, watched so many of them, but this was real life and now I was relying on some movie to get me through a real zombie apocalypse. It seemed childish, but still, I tried to remember everything I'd learned.

I don't know how I made it home that night. I'd just suddenly been in front of my house and I nearly ran through the garage trying to parking my car. There were no lights on except the porch light. I was unarmed and scared. Yes, Chris Jericho was scared. I hadn't seen a zombie on my street, but could they lurk, run, jump? I had no idea. I had no weapon, nothing, so I just ran to my front door. It was wide open. I ran inside, screaming my wife's name, but she wasn't there. Some of her things were gone. That was the last time I saw her. I figured she would run to her mother's, but when I tried to call, no answer. So I did what any idiot would do, I stayed inside. I had enough food for a while and we'd bought a gun for protection so I boarded myself up. I don't know why, maybe I was waiting for Jessica to come back so we could make a break for it together, maybe I was just shell-shocked, but I have to say, not my best decision. All staying inside gave me was time to watch the horror.

I'd looked out a window in my home and saw my neighbors being pulled out, screaming. Their blood still makes my stomach turn. Eventually the rules came back to me, seeing death will make those things come back right quick. My rules kept me alive. Run like fuck, because your life does depend on it. Never look back, because what you'll see will make you turn in the grave...not that I'll ever get a grave. Guns are your only friends, Uncle Sam was right, fuck the haters. You wonder when your life turned into this b-list movie where you have to fight for your life every night and you wonder what happened to everyone in your life, are they still alive? Are they dead? Or worse, will you have to blow their head off because they're chasing you own the highway wanting to eat your brains?

The food didn't last long, and if I'm honest my home didn't really instill that homely feel it once had. Maybe that's the down fall of coming home to find your door wide open and your wife missing or maybe it's because it wasn't much of a home those awkward months before the world decided to freak the fuck out, hell for all I know it could've been the fact I was sick of eating dry Lucky Charms. All that matters is, the food ran dry and I had two options: stay and die, whether it be of starvation or the unlucky scenario that I become the food or I could man up, open that door and face what the world had become.

Okay, so I stayed an extra two days, but you try manning up in a zombie apocalypse. On the third day, the sun rose and I was already awake and packed. I had my gun and a baseball bat and all the prayers that I could remember. I thought about taking knifes, but I didn't really plan on getting that close to a zombie, if I'm honest. I like my arteries on the inside of my neck, it's just how I am. I couldn't find my golf clubs, I hope Jessica had the hindsight to take them with her, but she was never very good in a panic and the chances of her grabbing her make-up bag were higher than her taking a weapon to protect herself, because zombies, they wanted a makeover, cover up that rotting flesh and all.

You have to love the sun, it makes them slow, it rots them faster, which, when you look at it are bonus points for the human race, because we may not have much going for us lately, but we could damn well get a sun tan, and out run zombies, which, when they're legs are falling off, was a real plus. Then and there I knew if I kept going in the morning and rested at night, maybe I'd survive.

I'd thought about staying in Florida, with the heat, you'd think they'd rot faster, but it just wasn't safe and safety nowadays is one of the first things you want and one of the hardest things to get. The virus or whatever (my mind is so jumbled with thoughts that it's hard to remember how this all started) spread so fast that I think the zombies outnumber us at this point. Staying in one place just isn't practical. They will find you and when they do and you don't have a way out, you're screwed, beyond screwed, you're dead. I'd heard about some safety points. There was one in Nashville so I decided to go there, see if I could find any other survivors and try to figure out the world from there.

Bullets don't last long though. A baseball bat is only useful if you've got a clear shot and those don't come too often when you've got a hoard of zombies on your tail. Your car needs gas and the gas stations close and they run out of gas. Getting to Nashville wasn't as easy as driving there, stopping every now and then to get food, stopping for a night in some hotel. Getting to Nashville is no longer getting there, it's surviving until Nashville. Some nights, while I was driving, I'd close my eyes, just for the briefest of moments and I'd pretend that I was just traveling to another show, another match waiting for me at the other end.

When you're surviving, your old life seems so far away. I think about the people I worked with every now and then, hoping that they're okay, that they're alive. I called these people my coworkers, my friends, my family away from home. Some days they were more a family to me than my own. I know it's not feasible that they're all alive, but I just want to picture that at the end of this long road, they're all waiting for me, waiting with a schedule and a match and an audience that will cheer me and not want to eat me.

All I want is a life again.

But I'm not stupid, I know there's not happy ever afters anymore, no shining light at the end of the tunnel, no happiness, so I can dream and dream all I want, but the fact still remains, that those people I called my family, chances are they're dead, or the undead. Sometimes at night, when I manage to sleep more than an hour and my dreams aren't filled with maps and escapes, sometimes I see the color blue and it calms me, I don't exactly know what it means, it's not your average blue, it's icy and should chill me, but I find myself searching for it when I wake up and maybe someday, one day so far away, I'll find it and I'll be calm and the world might be too.

I guess I'm still a dreamer.

The first person I killed was a guy in a business suit. _A business suit_. I'd never envisioned a life where I'd have to kill to survive, if what you can call what we have to do killing. I think I prefer to think of it as putting them out of their misery. I can't imagine a life where you're neither truly dead nor truly alive. I'd have to think that's even worse than what I do. This guy, he was coming at me, lumbering really, and his eyes...their eyes, so glazed over, death settling in them, but not staying dormant. I pulled out my gun and I shot him through his right eye, just to get that glaze out of my brain. I felt sick afterwards, I almost threw up and would have if the sound didn't carry around the empty space and attract more of them.

I travel light. Just what I can carry. I've got a truck, found it with the keys still inside. There were some bloody handprints along the side, poor driver probably got dragged out of there, kicking and screaming. It moves fast and gets me where I need to go. Remember how I said I was heading to Nashville? Zombie town now. Government, in all their stupidity, underestimated the numbers and I guess they just abandoned post. That happy ending I was looking for, it just ain't there. The radio broadcasts have stopped, nobody's on the other end. Every once in a while, I'll meet someone else and they'll tell me about the latest safe spot they've heard about, pipe dreams probably, but like the rest of the poor living bastards, I still head for them, hoping this one will be _the_ one.

It's mid June and the sun is high in the cloudless sky, the earth still revolving around it, like there's life down here that needs air to breathe. Wouldn't humanity weep at what it's become? Pennsylvania is a pitiful excuse of a state, word has it that the zombies over run it and increased the infected in four days. Four fucking days. New York took two whole weeks. But who am I to judge, for all I know they could have given up hope, wandered into the streets as a collective and gave themselves willingly. A shudder runs through me, willingly or not getting torn to shreds or getting infected isn't a thing to want.

I saw a guy once, he was a skrawny thing, wanted to travel with me, but I told him I don't work like that, I look out for me and me alone nd if he was smart he'd start doing the same. I gave him a gun though and told him my rules and started walking. He was still staring at the gun when I turned back and the zombie was right behind him. I yelled, started running towards him raising my gun, but I couldn't get a clear shoot and then it was too late, there was a jaw around his shoulder and he was screaming in pain. I saw the pain cloud his eyes and I wondered when he looked up at me in desperation if mines mirrored it back.

I shot the zombie dead between the eyes, but still, it was too late. I wasn't fast enough, he wasn't aware enough, and the world was dying around us. We both knew what was coming and he bit his lip to keep from crying, I didn't blame him he was changing into someone who would remember a thing.

_What's your name kid?"_

_"Brad." He'd whimpered out as a response._

_"What age are you?"_

_"17."_

_I remember thinking that he'd had his whole life ahead of him, a year away from college and meeting his dream girl, years later marrying her and having three little girls. Seventeen was such an early age to die at._

_"I'm sorry." And I was, if I'd stayed for a few minutes more, maybe I could have changed the outcome, maybe I could have saved his life, maybe I could have someone to talk to that weren't the voices in my head whispering at me to give up, that it was useless to fight and that I was going to die tomorrow._

_I held his hand and we talked about nothing of great interest, anything that came to mind really, hockey, video games and such, I just didn't want him to die alone. He whispered a quiet thanks before his eyes went shut and his hand went slack and I had to bite my lip from letting out any kind of weakness. It wouldn't take long now and I watched him as I reached out and picked up the gun that could have saved his life and then the first twitch came in his leg. Then his arm followed, after his neck turned with a sick cracking noise that no human could survive and his eyes flew open. It looked like he'd just woken up from whatever dream he was having, his skin wasn't rotten yet and the only injuries he had were the fatal bite to his shoulder, but it was his eyes, there wasn't pain and desperation in them anymore, there was...nothing._

_I lifted the gun and shot the boy I could have saved._

But there are no saviors anymore. God? What has he done for us? Punishing us, both the living and the dead. The living having to stay in constant fear of dying and the dead not getting any peace. I'm heading north now, but the truck needs gas. Unfortunately, the only gas station within miles of this hick town I'm passing through on my way up to Cleveland or Detroit or wherever I heard the next place is, is out of gas. I have to siphon some out of another car. It's not too difficult, you puncture a hole in the gas tank underneath the car, drain it out into a canister, then you put it in your own car. The danger is that there are fucking zombies around and staying under a car isn't too safe.

This place looks deserted, but you can never tell. Sometimes you'll hear the moan first, that moan of agony and hunger beyond reason. They don't seem to really think anymore except hunger. That helps when you're blowing their brains out. Most times though, you hear this low shuffling or harsh footsteps, depending on the particular zombie. Still, getting gas is dangerous work and I'm playing a dangerous game, but sundown, according to my watch and my instincts is coming fast and if I don't get my truck gassed and my ass somewhere relatively safe for the night, I'm a goner so this has to be done.

I pull up my truck to the nearest car I can see and park. This will give me at least a little cover. I take my gun, make sure it has a clip in it and step out. I've managed to find a few guns along the way, but most stores were looted. The only positive with so many people dead is that they leave stuff around. I've become a scavenger. I look around before grabbing the canister and a screwdriver and hammer out of the toolbox in my truck. Then I sidle underneath the car and stay there for a moment, taking in my breathing, listening for any kind of sound.

I know what you're expecting, that I hear something and slide out to find out where the noise is coming from and there it is, this abomination ready to kill me and we fight too the death. Sorry to disappoint you, but shockingly this mission was flawless and I get about half a canister. Considering most of the cars I try these days are empty, I call this a success. This might get me thirty extra miles. Doesn't seem a lot, does it? But those thirty miles could save my life, but it could just as well end it. I guess I'll see when the time comes.

I hit a few more cars and much to my annoyance they're mostly empty, except the last one which had about half a tank, but I know my time is up and I need to get my ass out of here. The suns setting and the night is creeping towards me fast, and soon the silence will be broken with moans that have created a fear within me that I can't explain. It's like standing on the front line when the bombs start to drop, you never think it's going be you, until, it is and you're just hoping for one more minute, for...something.

But, time is scarce and you can't predict the future, you're just trying to live, even if it's not exactly living.


End file.
